


Neverland

by slavetosociety



Series: Supernatural Drabbles [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-02 17:24:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11514000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slavetosociety/pseuds/slavetosociety
Summary: Dean Winchester is diagnosed with a fatal illness and given only a month to live. Sam and Castiel can only watch in helplessness as the former hunter deteriorates before their eyes. On his deathbed, Castiel does the unthinkable.And there are consequences to his actions.





	Neverland

**** Nine Years Ago ****

"Angels, demons, where do you think they go when they die?" Dean asked, downing a beer as he and Castiel leaned against one another, staring at the vast expanse of stars above them. The angel didn't reply, not knowing the answer himself.

"I like to think," Dean continued, speaking more to himself rather than anyone in particular. "I like to think that they go to Neverland when they die."

This caught the angel's attention. "I don't think that angels or demons go to a fictional place when they die."

Dean only shrugged. "Hell, there's such a thing as angels and demons. So why can't they?" 

Castiel couldn't find a proper reply and instead leaned his head against Dean's shoulders, watching the stars, dreaming of Neverland.

**** Present Day ****

"It's called cancer, Cas."

The angel tilted his head to one side, not understanding the complex nature of this situation. Sam Winchester had said nothing, his face devoid of all emotion. Dean was covered in nothing more than a green, thin hospital garment, series of machines hooked to his arms, creating a multitude of harsh beaps, Dean wishing he had his gun to shoot all of them. The truth was, any Winchester hated being in a hospital, having to rely on others to take care of them while they lay on a bed, complete and utterly useless to the world.

"It's a sickness," Dean attempted to explain. Sam turned around, staring intently at the ground. 

"Then I'll just heal you - " Castiel narrowed his eyes in confusion, not understanding why the humans had bothered taking Dean to the hospital in the first place. Fixing ailments was one of his specialties. He placed three fingers to Dean's forehead and closed his eyes, allowing his conciousness to scan Dean's physical form, attempting to locate the source of his discomfort. There was nothing he could detect and forced to pull himself away in defeat.

"It's not something you can heal," Dean muttered, avoiding eye contact with his brother and the angel. "You either get better or you don't."

Castiel froze for a moment, imagining a life without the Winchesters. It wasn't an idea he had given much thought. It was true, however, that there would be an instance in which the two would die and he would remain, stranded and alone on Earth. He was damned to forever walk amongst the humans, welcome in neither Heaven nor Hell. 

"We'll figure something out," Sam lifted his head suddenly, eyeing his brother. "We'll summon a demon - "

"No," Dean snapped with such a ferocity that the two winced away from him, surprised by the sudden harshness in his words. "None of you are going down that road again, I forbid it." 

On those words, Sam left the room, his left hand balled into a fist. Castiel's eyes followed after him before turning to face Dean. "We'll figure something out," he said softly. "Like we always do."

Dean grabbed Castiel by the collar of his shirt and pulled the angel closer to him, their two foreheads pressed against one another. Castiel remained there, sensing the sickness that ravaged the Winchester, the fever that was beginning to burn his body from the inside out. They stayed like that for hours, even when the nurse came in to gently inform them that visiting hours were over. Castiel gave Dean one last smile before the door slammed shut, sealing him from view.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Dean," Castiel took a step into the hospital room. The heart rate monitor that stood next to Dean kept at a slow rhythm, and the angel couldn't help but wonder how long the Winchester had left. Dean raised a shaking hand and interlaced his fingers with Castiel's, a tired smile spreading across his now-yellowed skin, one of the many side effects of the chemo treatment he had started.

"Hey angel," Dean whispered back and doubled over in a fit of coughing, blood splattering across the white hospital sheets, some drops hitting his trenchcoat. Castiel didn't flinch, even when the heart monitor began to scream rapidly, summoning a multitude of nurses into the room. They barked orders at one another frantically, attempting to restrain Dean to the bed as his body gave way to a fit of seizures. 

Dean's hand dropped from Castiel's, his body going limp. A nurse gently steered the angel away from the Winchester, whispering to him as the others worked desperately to stabilize him. "The doctors say there's not much left we can do for him," she murmured, eyeing him with falsified sympathy. Cases like this she had seen so much of, that offering words of condolences were a robotic-like action to her. "We're going to move Dean to hospice, so he can be in comfort. Cases like this, we often find ourselves turning to faith for help. Miracles do happen, you know."

Castiel said nothing, brushing past her. Dean had been shackled to the hospital bed, his body shuddering involuntarily from time to time. Blood streamed from the corner of his mouth and bile formed inside the angel's mouth. There were no such things as miracles, no god that was watching over humanity, listening to their prayers. There was nothing.

~*~*~*~*~*

"Dean."

It was a month later, but it had felt so much longer. Minutes were hours, hours passed by as days, days felt like centuries. Sam had said nothing since Dean had been relocated to hospice, trapped within the confines of his mind. He would wake up from his coma on occasion, screaming about the demons that lurked in the closet, the numerous ways his father had beaten him and Sam for failing to do better. 

It was times like those that Castiel found himself lost, simply walking out of the room and into the rest of the world, where humans were walking about, not knowing that there was a human inside the hospital that they passed by dying of cancer, a human who had saved their lives so many times before. 

And there was a plan, a sick and twisted plan that had manifested inside of the angel's mind since the word 'cancer' had left the Winchester's mouth. There was a way, he supposed, to save Dean and end all of this. And in the end, what did it matter what happened to Castiel? He was just another knight in the game that god had created, but the Winchesters? They were essential, the fundamental building blocks that the world was built upon. Without them, the Earth was damned to another fiery demise.

"You have to understand," Castiel whispered, walking back into the hotel room, closing the door behind him. He assumed his usual spot next to Dean, brushing a lock of matted hair away from his eyes. Dean's hands and feet were twitching involuntarily from some unknown dream produced from his comatose state. "I have to do this, the world needs you. You and Sam, the two of you need each other."

He closed his eyes and allowed himself to meld with Dean's fading consciousness, ignoring his obvious decaying state. He gently brushed against his mind and allowed a manifestation of himself to project inside whatever dream had formed inside his mind.

The scenery immediately became a lush green landscape. Dean was no older than eight, screeching and chasing after his younger brother Sam who was around the age of four. Their mother stood from afar with her hands interlaced with John's, watching their children. A small smile spread across Castiel's face at what world Dean had chosen to project himself in, a world where his mother had lived and the Winchesters went on to live a normal life, free from monsters and demons. 

The younger version of Dean stopped at Castiel's feet, staring up at him in awe. "Who are you?" he asked, cocking his head to one side. The angel got to his knees so that he was eye-level with the young boy. 

"My name is Clarence," Castiel smiled slightly, recalling the nickname that the demon Meg had given him. He didn't quite understand the reference from which it came from, but he felt that if he were to have a true name, that would be it. 

Dean giggled hysterically with all the innocence of a child. "That's a really funny name," he snorted and Castiel laughed in return before continuing.

"I need your help," he explained and Dean eyed him with such seriousness that Castiel froze, afraid that this version of Dean would recognize him and reject the offer he was about to propose. "A person I know, a dear friend of mine, is very sick. And I need your help."

"What do you need me to do?" Dean asked, cold determination in his green eyes, reflecting in every likeness the broken and grief-ridden person he would grow up to be. 

"I need you to say yes, that you'll come with me," Castiel replied, shaking slightly at the thought of what he was doing. There was something so profoundly wrong about this, but there wasn't exactly a second option on the table. 

"Yes," he said in a monotone voice. And on those words, Castiel allowed himself to eject from the vessel he had known for some many years and allowed himself to meld with Dean, his celestial form latching itself onto every fiber of his being, every thought, feeling, or emotion becoming his just as much as they were Dean's.

Of course, the arrangement would be similar to as it had been with Gadreel possessing Sam. Dean would have full control over his body, Castiel's presence hidden to him. However, with an angel's presence, the cancer could no longer develop and he would be able to resume his life once more. 

Dean's eyes fluttered open and a strangled gasp escaped him. He watched in astonishment as his skin returned to its normal color, the sickly yellow tone vanishing entirely. Castiel's former vessel was hidden from his view, any evidence of the angel's actions erased. 

Much to the hospital staff's amazement, Dean Winchester checked out of the hospital, no explanation on his swift recovery. Sam could offer no explanation either, swearing at gunpoint that he has made no demon or angel deal. A note served as the only explanation to Castiel's disappearance, saying that he has been summoned to Heaven to help rebuild the fragile government that has been destroyed under Metatron's wrath.

And so the next four years progressed with relative ease. The Winchesters continued to navigate throughout the country, defeating supernatural creatures and saving the world once or twice. Castiel watched from within the confines of Dean's mind, completely and utterly content with his situation. Dean had questioned Castiel's whereabouts but mainly, the Winchesters were at ease.

The peace, however, came to an end.

Dean woke up one morning, a series of chills racking his body. The cancer, once more, had taken a toll on him. Cancer was a complex nature to heal, because rather than being a sickness, it was just as much part of Dean's body as were his brain and other organs. Angels could heal disease, but cancer was a whole different story. Preventing the growth of the cancer was like pushing two of the same ends of a magnet together. You could hold them for a while but eventually they repelled and the balance was broken.

Dean Winchester once more found himself on a hospital bed, this time only Sam there to comfort him. Their prayers to Castiel haunted him every night, begging him to at least show up once. And on one night, one particularly frightening one after Dean had once more been relocated to hospice after another violent fit of seizures did Castiel make himself known.

"Dean," Castiel said his name so softly that at first he thought he hadn't spoken at all. Language was almost foreign to him, having not uttered a single word or phrase since the moment he had entered Dean's body. Dean immediately reacted, searching for any sign of the angel.

And with the utmost remorse, Castiel explained the entirety of the situation.

After he had finished, Dean responded with an icy silence. His thoughts and emotions were instantly blocked from Castiel, his attempt at privacy during this situation. At last he said, "Cas, you have to let go."

This caught the angel completely off guard. "Dean," his protests echoed inside Dean's mind. "I can fix this. In a few days..."

"I can't keep doing this," Dean replied, not bothering to hide every inch of regret and pain that he was in. "I'm not going to live Cas, I'm going to die. You can hold the cancer off, he'll, maybe for centuries even. But there will be slip-ups, like this, and the cancer will grow. And soon, I'll die. And I can't do this. Not to Sammy. Not to you."

"Dean," Castiel attempted to reply but already he found himself being separated from Dean, being ejected from him. Castiel fought with all the strength he could muster to hold on, to hold on for a little longer. He opened his eyes, kneeling before Dean once more in the body of Jimmy Novak. 

"Dean!" Castiel raced to the hunter's side, attempting to shake him. He waited for a reply, knowing that there would be none.

~*~*~*~*~*

Sam Winchester downed another beer, a habit he had taken to after he had burned his brother's body five years ago. He didn't understand why he had rejected alcohol for so long, it was Mother Nature's anesthetic. 

He had taken to hunting, taking care of cases whenever they popped up. It was on this day that he found himself in Normal, Illinois, working a call-in over various reports of sulfur around the area. 

He turned back to face the person tied to a chair, a devil's trap carved into the ceiling above. Sam flipped open a book and began to recite the familiar Latin phrase required to exorcise the demon when a bone-chilling laugh reverberated across the abandoned house. "Haven't we been down this road before Sammy?"

Sam Winchester instantly froze. The voice, the meatsuit's voice, was one he had never been familiar with. But the demon, there was something so damn familiar that he couldn't quite place. "C'mon," the demon cracked its neck, its eyes flashing to their trademark black. "Don't you know how to greet an old friend?"

 

Castiel's phone rang. He froze for a moment, staring down at the words 'Sam Winchester.' He had rarely exchanged words with the hunter following Dean's death, and it seemed strange that he should take this moment to call now. "Sam?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. "What's wrong?"

 

The angel arrived a few hours later, the moon only halfway completed its journey across the sky. "This is him?" he asked, looking up at Sam. He only nodded and brushed past Castiel, walking out the door, a beer clutched in his shaking hand.

"Cas," the demon rolled its head. "Long time no see."

"This is wrong," Castiel whispered, bending down to face the demon. Could he even bring himself to call it Dean? Any former traces of humanity had simply been washed away. "You should be in - "

"Heaven?" Dean interjected, a sneer on his face. "Do you think a guy like me gets paradise? Nope. I got a ticket downstairs."

A silver angel blade reflected in the faint moonlight. Dean's eyes flickered down to the weapon and then back at Cas. "You know what I have to do."

"Do it," Dean snarled, struggling against the restraints that held him down.

And on those words, Castiel plunged the knife into the meatsuit's stomach, a single tear rolling down his face as sparks flashed from underneath the human's skin. Dean gave one shudder and went still. 

Castiel's mind wandered back to the conversation he had had with Dean so many years ago, unimportant at that time, but so much more now. He pressed his head against the limp body, wishing with all his might, that there was a place for demons and angels when they died.

He wished for Neverland.


End file.
